Berlin: A Novel (58 page)

'What's your own favourite vegetable?' Ben interpreted.

'Cauliflower. Brassica oleracea argentinensis, the Argentinian variety. Grows almost of its own accord, delicious with black butter. Ha, butter, did I say?' Herr Appel gave a brief bark of laughter.

'Dead. Or maybe in Argentina. Or both,' Ben translated the gardener's culinary observations.

'If he's alive, would you by any chance know his address?' Brubaker persisted.

'Baked with a topping of breadcrumbs?'

'No,' said Herr Appel.

'No.'

Outside, a whistle was blown. Sergeant Allen was back, and summoning his baseball team. 'Got to get back to work,' Herr Appel grunted. 'Don't forget to write how difficult it is for us German allotment gardeners to protect our crops from thieves these days. Only last week, for instance ...'

'The alarm signal. They've got wind of our meeting. I have to leave at once,' Ben translated, pushing the Fiihrer's right-hand man out of the summerhouse door.

Another verse of the robbers' song drifted over from the building. 'Mercury's the god for us, a trickster, he was ever thus ...'

'Inspector Dietrich with his witness, sir,' Gertrud Olsen told her boss. 'To look at the card index.'

Curtis S. Chalford glanced out at the corridor. The visitors were waiting at the end of it. 'I'm busy. You see to it, Gertrud. Show them the card index and then get them out of here. We really do have better ways to spend our time.' He shut his office door.

Gertrud put two boxes of index cards on the table in the outside office. 'There you are, gentlemen. Hurry up, please. Mr Chalford's not in a very good temper. All the same - would you like a coffee?'

'No thank you, Frau Olsen,' said Dietrich, much to Miihlberger's disappointment. 'We don't want to strain Mr Chalford's temper unduly.' They went through the card index. Miihlberger proudly pointed to his own photograph, and Dietrich also recognized the picture of Ziesel the garbage truck driver. But he was out of contention as the murderer now.

The inspector pulled the card index of women employees towards him, although it was not really of any interest in this context. Under A he found Henriette von Aichborn's card. There was a black t after the name. 'The boss marked the other four with a cross too. He's very meticulous that way.' explained Gertrud Olsen, noticing Dietrich's surprise.

'Respectful sort of fellow.' said Miihlberger with heavy irony. 'Can we go now?'

'I'll drive you home.'

Chalford, watching from his office window, saw the wood-gas Opel lumber into motion. 'What is it, Gertrud?'

'Frau Weber is here.'

'Show her in.'

Jutta entered the office. 'Good morning, Mr Chalford. You sent for me?'

'Yes, it's some time since we saw each other.'

'Not since you hired me, in fact.'

'Sit down, please.' Chalford indicated a chair and got back behind his desk. 'I hear that Sergeant Panelli is very pleased with you. He praises you a lot, says you're a damned good cook, Frau Weber.' He stroked back his thin fair hair. 'I'm always happy when an arrangement I've made proves successful.' When he moved from English to German, his heavy American accent made his German seem clumsier than it really was. 'So what delicacy are you serving for lunch today?'

'Konigsberger Klopse.'

'Kounigsboorger Klapse,' he tried to say, and laughed at his own mispronunciation. 'What's that?'

'Something like your own meatballs. Served with caper sauce and boiled potatoes. This is the third time the boys have written it on the board where they can say what they'd like. It's all ready, and Sergeant Panelli is going to finish the cooking. I have a couple of days off.'

'Wonderful. Then I'm sure you'll have time to dine with me - this evening, perhaps?'

'Thank you so much for the invitation, but I'm going to see my parents in Kopenick.' She was glad that she didn't have to invent an excuse.

If he was disappointed he didn't show it. 'Frau Weber, it's because of your cooking skills that I asked to see you. Mr Gold of the State Department is looking for a first-class cook. In his position, he often has important guests to dinner. You'd have many privileges, but a good deal of overtime too. How about it?'

It would mean less time with John. 'I'm sure that's an interesting offer, Mr Chalford, but I'm happy where I am.'

'Well, I can't force you, Frau Weber.' He accompanied her to the stairs. 'Konigsberger Klopse,' he repeated with amusement.

'Well done. You said it without any accent at all that time,' she told him encouragingly.

She cycled home to fetch her overnight bag. On the stairs, she met a thin woman in a hat and coat, carrying a shabby suitcase. 'Hurry up, do,' she called to someone, without deigning to glance at Jutta. Jurgen Brandenburg came down the stairs with his white stick. He was wearing an ancient, ankle-length loden coat that made him look even shorter than he was, and a black Mao cap pulled well down over his ears. He looked pathetic and pitiable. He pushed past Jutta, and seemed about to say something, but decided against it.

In the apartment, an agitated Herr Konig greeted her. 'That Brandenburg! Just a conman! A fraud! Fighter pilot my foot! And he never won the Knight's Cross! His sister says their mother had measles when she was pregnant, and he was born blind. Fraulein Brandenburg tracked him down through the ration-card distribution centre. She came from Klein Beelzen to take him home so he can't do any more damage. He swindled a general's widow in Potsdam out of her last ring for an expensive operation to restore a war hero's sight. He'd been talking us into the same kind of thing. Ilse was on the point of sacrificing her platinum brooch for him. Well, now he can go back to weaving baskets under his sister's eye, the rogue. I always had a funny feeling about him, you know.'

'Of course you did, Herr Konig.' Jutta picked up her bag. 'Well, better luck with the next wearer of the Knight's Cross.'

John Ashburner was stowing a carton full of cans and bottles in the jeep, a present for Jutta's parents. 'Oh, please don't, John. They might feel it was charity.'

Shrugging, he carried the carton back into the kitchen. 'How did you do with Chalford?'

'He offered me a different job, but I said no. And he asked me out for a meal.'

'Oh, so he has his eye on you. What do you think of him?'

'He's a nice guy, but as a man he doesn't appeal to me at all.' She stood on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck from behind. Anyway, I already have one who wants to marry me. A girl doesn't let someone like that get away in a hurry.' she whispered in his ear.

Ashburner consulted the map. The Kopenick district was in the Soviet sector, and was best reached by driving right across the city. In these early post-war days, the borders between the four zones of occupation were of purely symbolic significance. Allies and Germans alike could move freely all over Berlin.

They drove through the ruinous landscape of the Mitte district. 'Until now going to see my parents was like a journey round the world.' Jutta leaned her head on his shoulder. 'I didn't know a tall good-looking American with a jeep then.'

'What are your parents like?'

'Mutti is hopelessly old-fashioned. "He's married," was the first thing she said when I told her about us.'

'What about your father?'

'He's unhappy with the way things are these days - but basically it's more himself he's unhappy with.'

A Nazi?'

She sat up. Are you marrying him or me? Still, if it sets your mind at rest, Vati is inclined to be nationalistic, but he was never a Nazi.'

Two burnt-out German tanks stood one on either side of the street. Ashburner was about to drive between them when a dirty brown jeep with a red star blocked the way. The captain braked hard. A man with a stubbly head and a lieutenant's shoulder straps got out of the jeep. He put his cap on and checked its angle in his rear mirror before approaching. 'Propusk: he demanded. Ashburner guessed that it meant 'Papers'. He saluted very correctly. 'Captain John Ashburner, United States Army. According to the agreement of our high commands, Allies in uniform don't have to produce papers.'

The Russian barked something as incomprehensible as it was unfriendly in tone, which helped neither side to get any further.

'Let's turn back, darling,' Jutta said quietly.

'I can't do that, if only on principle. I have a right to drive through freely. Let us pass, lieutenant.' He gestured to the Russian to move his vehicle out of the way. The man shouted something over his shoulder.

Three Red Army soldiers standing by the vehicle trod out their papyrossi and unslung their Kalashnikovs. The fourth man, who wore a blue mechanic's overalls and a worker's cap tilted at an angle. climbed out and approached at a leisurely pace. 'Do you understand German?' he asked.

'My name is Weber, and I'm a German myself.' said Jutta. 'Please can you explain to this man that he has no right to stop an American officer.'

'Storch,' the man introduced himself. 'Secretary of the Communist Party, Kopenick district, back in my homeland with the victorious Red Army.'

'How nice for you, Herr Storch. Now we'd like to drive on.'

Storch spoke to the lieutenant in Russian. 'Your pass.' he asked her. She did not want to aggravate matters, and handed him the ID indicating that she was an employee of the Americans.

'What's going on?' Ashburner asked impatiently.

The interpreter spoke to the Russian. 'The American can drive on. The German woman comes with us for questioning.' He kept her pass.

'John, they want to take me with them.'

Instinctively, Ashburner reached for the Magnum at his side, but luckily he had left it in the office. 'My companion does not leave this jeep, is that understood?'

Jutta translated it into German, and the interpreter translated it into Russian. The lieutenant shouted an order. The soldiers loaded their Kalashnikovs.

'This doesn't look good,' muttered Ashburner, reaching for the field telephone. 'Let's hear what HQ has to say.'

The lieutenant drew his pistol from its holster, shouting, 'Ne svonyit'!'

'Very well, my friend and ally, I get the idea,' Ashburner mollified him, switching the device to Off. He unfolded the latest number of Stars and Stripes and leaned back. 'He'll get tired of this after a while,' he soothed his girlfriend.

'They have radios too.'

'Yes, darling?'

'Your Russian friend. The one with the white sports car. Do you think he could help us?'

'Maxim Petrovich? My clever angel, that's the idea of the century. Tell that German Bolshie to get his Red liberator to phone General Bersarin's office and ask for Major Berkov. And tell him he'll be in deep trouble if he doesn't.'

Jutta beckoned to the district secretary. 'Oh, please, Herr Storch, we need your help.' She explained. 'Major Berkov will take responsibility, and then your lieutenant will be in the clear.'

Storch spoke to the Russian. He took off his cap and scratched his stubbly head. 'Da,' he decided. He took paper and pencil out of a card case dangling from a long strap and handed both to the interpreter.

'I'm to write down the American's name and rank in Cyrillic script,' he told Jutta. She spelled out the information he wanted.

The lieutenant returned to his vehicle. He spoke into the microphone, gesticulated, and kept pointing to the jeep. 'Seems like he has a lot to report,' commented Ashburner calmly.

Twenty minutes later the white BMW drew up beside their jeep. Major Berkov got out. 'John, how are you?'

'Thanks, very well. Apart from a little trouble with your excitable colleague here.'

'We'll soon deal with that. Won't you introduce me to your fair companion first?'

'Major Maxim Petrovich Berkov - Jutta Weber,' said John Ashburner, relieved.

Jutta shook hands with the major. 'We've seen each other before:

'I remember it with pleasure.' Berkov did not conceal his interest. 'John, what seems to be the problem?' Ashburner explained. 'Leave it to me.' The major went over to the lieutenant, and after a brief exchange of words returned. 'He has orders to check all military vehicles passing this way - but only our own, of course. You must forgive his excess of zeal. Here you are. madame.' He gave Jutta her pass back. 'What brings you to our part of the city?'

'We're visiting my parents in Kopenick. They run the Red Eagle bar and cafe.'

'Well, I wish you a pleasant afternoon.' A long, appreciative look. A pity we won't be meeting again. I've been recalled to Moscow.' The major got into his sports car. 'Goodbye, John.'

'Thanks, Maxim Petrovich. You were a great help. It's been nice to know you.'

Berkov replied with a casual little wave of his hand. The BMW raced away. As he started the jeep, Ashburner made the four wheels spin, and left five coughing figures in a cloud of dust behind them. Fifteen minutes later, they had reached their destination.